


and dreams paled

by antoineroussel



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Developing Relationship, Finnish Mythology - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, pekka's aesthetic: rural finnish cottage witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antoineroussel/pseuds/antoineroussel
Summary: A young man sits up, facing away from Pekka, and rubs his eyes furiously. His skin is golden, left shoulder scarred lightly, and he wraps one of the red furs around his waist, apparently not wearing much else. Pekka, startled, makes a choked noise, and the man turns around. He gets to his feet with a boyish smile, and sits himself down on the chair opposite to Pekka.





	and dreams paled

**Author's Note:**

> hey this sure is a thing
> 
> also assume everything they say/think is in finnish and uh, this may or may not be accurate finland stuff as i've never been there and while i did a lot of cool research, i'm probably not gonna get everything right
> 
> enjoy whatever this is!
> 
> inspired in part by this article: https://www.ontheforecheck.com/2015/12/4/9845336/linkspeak-the-legend-of-little-bear

Pekka finds him curled up by a ring of drooping birch trees. 

The bear’s fur is unusually light, standing out against the damp soil and leaves along with an angry wound by its shoulder. It’s small for a brown bear, and as he approaches cautiously, he can see that it’s almost malnourished. The bear only huffs at the sound of his footfalls, ears twitching, so he continues until he’s close enough to see its eyes shifting frantically. It doesn’t know Pekka means no harm.

He puts his hands out. “I won’t hurt you, cousin,” Pekka is hesitant to add the endearment, but he remembers he’s alone and continues. “What happened here?” He keeps his voice even and pets the coarse fur of its stomach, keeping away from the wound. The bear seems to calm at his words, but he thinks it may be his imagination running away with him. “I can’t lift you, unfortunately, but if you could wait here for me to grab a barrow, I could give it a look,” he says, pats one downy ear. For such an emaciated animal, it appears strangely well-groomed, with clear eyes and muzzle, the fur unmatted. To Pekka’s surprise, it rises to stand as soon as he finishes his sentence and ambles slowly towards the house. He follows, quickening his pace to reach the porch before the bear does and snagging a blue quilt off his rocking chair. He wraps the quilt around its shoulders and laughs when it scratches at his front door like a dog would, and, against his better judgment, he opens the door for it to tumble into the foyer.

Pekka gets some logs for the stove and pulls a chair up to where the bear is resting on its side to inspect the gash. He cleans it as thoroughly as he can, not shocked by the rapid healing. The blood is still there, but the actual cut has gotten noticeably smaller since he’d looked at it outside. “You’re special, aren’t you?” He smiles, having suspected it to be more than an injured animal since it calmed at his speaking. Yet again, the bear looks at him with an almost understanding, setting its head in his lap as he stitches the diminished wound. “All done,” Pekka says when the cotton is tied off, wiping his hands clean. It goes back toward the fire to rest.

He was headed to a neighbor’s house to return some tools when he found the bear, but there’s no harm in doing it tomorrow or waiting until someone bothered him about it, which they inevitably would. The work of the day catches up to him quickly, and he decides to go to sleep. Pekka stops at the cabinet near the door to say a quick prayer to Mielikki for the bear’s good health, and gets a drink before heading to his room.

He takes off his clothes and settles into bed.

In the morning, Pekka wakes up early and puts on simple workclothes. There’s a lot to do before his plants go dormant for the winter, and it’s almost October. The sky is a placid grey when he pulls back the curtain to look, but there aren’t any clouds, so it might not rain until nightfall. He heads straight for the kitchen, putting water on to boil for coffee. He hears crackling and pauses.

Pekka takes a moment to look and see that the wood-burning stove’s flame is still lit. As his eyes diverge from the fire, he sees his blue quilt replaced with merle and ginger furs, while the lump underneath it has become considerably more human-looking. He doesn’t quite burn himself on the coffee pot upon realizing this, but it’s a near thing. Understanding that the bear was unique in some way didn’t prepare him for a person (or similar-appearing being) in his home. He shakes a little, but continues with his daily routine, putting a cup of coffee on his altar cabinet and making one for himself. Pekka glances at the figure every so often as he sips, but every movement is just restlessness in its sleep. When his own mug is halfway emptied, he hesitantly pours another and slides it to the other side of the dining table- pulls up a second chair and sits back down to watch from afar.

The figure, after a few minutes of shifting, finally peels the furs back. A young man sits up, facing away from Pekka, and rubs his eyes furiously. His skin is golden, left shoulder scarred lightly, and he wraps one of the red furs around his waist, apparently not wearing much else. Pekka, startled, makes a choked noise, and the man turns around. He gets to his feet with a boyish smile, and sits himself down on the chair opposite to Pekka. He’s practically drenched in warmth, almost glowing despite the lack of sun.

But he’s also thin. Pekka can’t help but choose to fixate on something superficial that he can work with. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks, probably losing his mind, and the man nods, still cheerful. He’s quick to get out of his chair, putting bread rolls, cheeses, and fruit on the table for his unexpected guest. The man dips his head, presumably in gratitude, and eats quietly. At times he seems a bit uncoordinated, playing with the butter knife in the jam jar and jumping when it clatters against his plate for a while before figuring out what he’s supposed to do with it. He takes a sip of the coffee once he realizes it’s meant for him, then grimaces at the bitterness. Pekka is strangely charmed, stands to add cream and sugar for him, and watches as he drinks it with more approval. It’s familiar to him, for some reason.

The smile on his face when he’s finished is unnerving but genuine, and Pekka dares to return it. 

“What’s your name?” The man asks him, accent thick.

He’s heard that demons can use one’s real name to kill them. “Pekka.”

He rests his chin on the heel of his palm and regards Pekka carefully. “That’s my father’s name. I’m Juuse. Thank you for taking me in,” he says. Pekka blinks and stands up again, chair loudly scraping against the floor.

“It’s nothing, I should get you some clothes to wear,” He heads off to his room and gets out a soft shirt and a pair of boxers (one with drawstrings, because he knows they wouldn’t stay up otherwise.) He hands them to Juuse, who looks excited by this at first, then a tad confused. The shirt isn’t much of a problem for him, but when he pulls the shorts up, it seems that he doesn’t know what to do with the strings. Pekka feels like he’s playing with fire, interfering with something clearly inhuman and most likely above his understanding. That doesn’t stop him from gesturing for Juuse to come forward and tying the strings in a bow at his waist. Helping him is almost instinctive, but there’s nothing to tell Pekka it won’t come back and bite him later. He continues anyway.

Juuse grabs his hand from the waistband when he’s done and kisses his palm, then lets him go to lace his own hands together in front of him. “You’re very kind,” he says, and they’re so close Pekka can feel the warmth of Juuse’s breath at his collar. He smells distinctly of pine needles and then something sweet that Pekka can’t discern. He’s uncomfortable with the intimacy, the newness of it, and it must show, since Juuse steps back. The floor creaks, and he can’t hear anything else.

“Thank you,” he replies, just to fill the silence. Then he has a terrible idea and goes with it. “Where did you come from?”

If Juuse is offended in any way by the question, he doesn’t make it known. “The forest. You’re familiar with my mother,” he says, a smile playing at his lips while he waits for it to dawn on Pekka. When it does, the simultaneous horror and excitement that comes with it makes him nauseous. He should have probably figured out the connection between this situation and Mielikki, the proclaimed ‘mother of bears’ that he’s devoted to, but it somehow didn’t cross his mind. Juuse continues when he doesn’t say anything. “The contents of a prayer don’t usually reach the gods, but they know you’re saying  _ something.  _ I can tell her what you said though.”

Pekka is a bit mortified to think that he’s been mostly talking to himself, and even more mortified by the idea of Mielikki hearing what he’s said about her son. It was just a wish for good health, but still. “How do you talk to her? Does she appear to you?” He’s most likely being disrespectful, but he’s curious now and less jolted. Juuse rolls his eyes, seemingly to himself.

“She hasn’t appeared to me in years. There are a few ways of contacting her, but the easiest is just to talk aloud until she decides to listen,” Pekka doesn’t know what that means, but he figures he shouldn’t be asking such invasive questions. Juuse has no obligation to him. “What were you planning on doing this morning?”

“Storing equipment, getting plants ready for the cold.”

Juuse seems unimpressed with this answer. He hums, looks out the window at the line where the trees taper off into slate blue sky. “You could stay inside today, go back to bed.”

He’s about to say that it’s better to work in the morning with the most light, but the words die in his throat when Juuse touches his jaw. “Alright,” Pekka stares as he sits back down on the floor in front of the fire, and once he realizes that Juuse isn’t going to say anything else, he goes to his bedroom. He doesn’t think he’s young or old enough to take naps, especially this early, but lying down might clear his head. Pekka doesn’t bother undressing, and pulls the blankets over his head once he’s in bed.

He opens his eyes next- a few minutes or a few hours later- to a ringing noise coming from the parlor. It’s eerie, less like his ears ringing and more like a distorted whirring, changing in pitch at random. The noise stops suddenly.

“Exactly,” he hears Juuse say, and the whirring starts up again. The air prickles around him. “He hasn’t been anything but kind to me.” A pause. “I’m always careful. Don’t you like him?” The noise gets louder. “Well, don’t like him  _ too _ much. He’s too good for you,” Juuse teases. A distinctive, feminine laugh echoes through the hall, and Pekka can’t help tensing. There’s something frightening about hearing that sort of otherworldly voice in his home. 

The conversation apparently ends there, but he stays in bed for as long as he can stand before slinking back out. Juuse is still sitting on the floor when he walks up front, tracing lines in the wood and looking up unassumingly at Pekka. He stands to meet him.

“Did you get to sleep at all?” Pekka nods. He isn’t lying. Juuse smiles and carefully smooths his collar down as if fixing it for him. “Good. I talked to my mother, and she’s very grateful.”

Pekka doesn’t know how to respond, so he just nods. “I have to go outside now,” he says, stilted and almost unsure. “If you need anything, I’ll be somewhere out there.”

“Go check on your plants,” Juuse replies, with something like mischief in his voice. Pekka was actually going to put away some equipment that would rust if he left it outside, but he feels compelled to listen to Juuse. That might be the easiest place to start. He gives his guest one last look over his shoulder as if he might disappear the moment Pekka turns his back on him, before finally stepping out onto the porch. It isn’t the greatest day to start digging up potatoes, with the ground still soaked, but there’s not much else he can do. He’s looking so hard into the dirt for answers that he doesn’t notice when it becomes abnormally uneven. 

It takes almost walking into a ditch for Pekka to realize that something has changed. He looks up to find entire rows cleared, the plants missing. He wants to sit down in the wet dirt and yell, but his confusion ends quickly. It’s only a moment before he finds them- in trays, stacked up against the side of his shed, which is where he would usually put the vegetables around this time of year until he could pack them for storage in the basement.

He stomps back into the house, feeling simultaneously defeated (he takes pride in doing everything himself) and relieved (because he doesn’t have to do it himself.) 

“Did you-” Juuse looks up from where he’s running his fingers over the spine of an old book. The fire has finally died down to embers. “What else did you do?” It isn’t accusing, but rather curious.

“That’s all  _ she  _ did, but I can help you with everything else,” he says, eyes bright. 

Pekka sighs and goes to his room to get more clothes for Juuse to wear outside. The only shoes that will fit him are some house slippers, and Pekka resigns himself to the fact that he’ll have to clean them of mud after this. Juuse puts on the pants and slippers quietly, lets Pekka wrap him in a light jacket. “It’s a bit cold,” he explains, practically mumbling. It’s clear that Juuse doesn’t need it; he’s radiating heat. He keeps it on anyway and thanks Pekka with a smile.

They spend the next hour transferring the trays from the shed to Pekka’s basement where they’ll stay until he can use the vegetables or plant them again. Juuse doesn’t know how to help at first, but he stays close to Pekka and puts trays down wherever he points. The fear of somehow angering the gods is ever-present, but it weighs on him less by the time they’re finished. Juuse is overwhelmingly agreeable, and seems to be even amused by Pekka’s cynical comments. He offers to help with organizing tools. Pekka tells him where everything goes, and feels comfortable leaving him be in favor of moving some equipment inside. When he comes back, Juuse is waiting for him, and all of his weeders are polished. He tries to hide his surprise, but by the proud look on Juuse’s face, he doesn’t do a very good job.

“That’s all we can do today, I think,” he says, composing himself. Juuse rocks back on his heels. “I should get something for dinner. Will you stay here if I go out?”

Juuse looks offended by the notion for a moment, but his features smooth out quickly. “I would. Can I go with you though?” Pekka nods before he even finishes the sentence, and Juuse beams. It would just make him feel better knowing that Juuse was safe. 

Pekka leads him with a hand on his shoulder to his truck outside and lets him get settled in before starting the car. He jumps, like he only  _ now  _ realizes where he is, but he gets accustomed to the movement as quickly as he was startled by it. Getting to the main road is fairly easy, but the store is a distance. Pekka looks at Juuse every so often out of the corner of his eye, seeing him pressed flat against the window. He makes a noise. “What is it?”

Juuse’s face goes through a range of expressions. “I’ve seen cars before, but I’ve never been in one. I didn’t know you could see out,” Pekka almost laughs at the thought of cars having one-way windows, but he just bites his tongue and hums in understanding.

“You’re, uh, you have an interesting accent. Is it southern or-?” Juuse stares at him blankly from the passenger seat. “Right. Never mind.”

Once he goes back to staring out the window, he seems to be absorbing more of the landscape. “Are these your neighbors?” Pekka nods. “Do you always live alone? Did your children move away?”

His initial surprise is overcome by fondness at the innocent question. He lets himself laugh a bit. “I do, and I don’t have any children. Do I look old enough to have kids at university?”

Juuse furrows his brows, confused. “No, it just seemed like that was typical.”

Pekka laughs harder. Juuse seems genuinely troubled by the tragic circle of life for abandoned parents, but he smiles after a moment. “A little bit.”

The rest of the drive is in comfortable silence, Juuse studying the passing scenery and Pekka lost in his own thoughts. It seems like they get to the general store in no time at all. Juuse is momentarily upset by the door handle once the car is parked, but like everything else, he figures it out. As they’re walking in, Juuse stops him, expression grave, and hugs him tightly. Pekka tenses, and prays that nobody is seeing this. “What’s wrong?”

“I really am happy you found me,” he says. Juuse has his arms around Pekka’s shoulders, forcing him to stoop down a little. He lets go quickly, but keeps his hands on Pekka’s biceps. “I’m sorry to be inconveniencing you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Pekka mumbles, and Juuse gives him a sly look that he can’t even begin to interpret. He opens the shop’s door for them. Once he walks in, Juuse’s demeanor changes almost immediately, hiding behind Pekka with both hands bunched in the back of his shirt. The girl at the counter, Katja, knows him well, and that unfortunately means that she knows he lives alone. Well, everyone knows he lives alone, for even more unfortunate reasons. But she looks up from her phone once to nod in acknowledgement of him and doesn’t say a thing. Pekka is thankful for that, at least, and he taps Juuse, encouraging him to come out. He pretends to study the label of a jar. 

Pekka sighs. He gets what he needs for a simple stew and takes it up to the front, Juuse eventually stepping out from behind him to look at something on another shelf. When he gets to the counter, Juuse gets a hand fisted in his shirt sleeve, pushing a bottle of honey next to the other items. He has the decency to give a questioning look as he does, and Pekka nods in agreement, more amused than anything. 

Katja asks how he’s doing like usual and doesn’t even look in Juuse’s direction until he averts his gaze to study the floor. Then she looks sharply between them, particularly at the military patches on the jacket Juuse’s wearing. Pekka suddenly regrets ranting at her that one day about his army service. She raises an eyebrow at him, and he looks back silently, hoping to convey that it’s nothing out of the usual. 

He can’t even convince  _ himself  _ of that.

She hands him his bags, and feeling shamefaced for no real reason, he exits meekly with Juuse in tow. The drive back is silent, but Juuse doesn’t seem to notice the change in mood- or at least, if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. The awkwardness fades when they walk into the house, and Juuse excitedly empties the bag onto the dining table to find his honey.

It seems darker in the house, more subdued since the glimpse of midday sun has vanished. Pekka starts on a simple stew. Juuse doesn’t try to talk to him, but after a moment of silence he laughs to himself, delicate and just a bit unworldly. Pekka grows warm at the sound, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s comforting.

“What is it?” A smile plays at his lips, ready for another attempt at socializing.

Juuse rests his chin on his hand, leaning over the table. His eyes are bright. “I’m not sure. Things move a little fast for me, so it’s easy to forget thoughts just as soon as they pop up,” There are so many questions that raises for Pekka, but he lets Juuse continue. “Maybe- maybe I was thinking that our meeting wasn’t an accident.”

Pekka pauses to consider it. “Why?” He tries not to sound accusatory; he’s simply curious. He puts out bowls for the both of them.

“You might be the only one in this area to acknowledge Mielikki, and you’re not the first human I’ve spoken with, but you’re the only one to know what I am. I’ve never felt comfortable in this body, socially, so I usually stay in the woods,” Juuse explains. He nods, knowing his expression is hopelessly dumbfounded, and Juuse laughs again. “People are terrifying.”

True enough. “And talking to gods is uneventful?”

Juuse smiles, coy, and doesn’t answer. He looks to Pekka’s small shrine by the door. His eyes skim over a wooden carving of his mother and then flicker back to Pekka. “Could you tell me about this? The whole table, if that’s alright. I don’t know how people worship, really.”

“Oh- if you want,” Pekka slides his chair over to Juuse’s side and gestures to the statuette. “I carve these in the winter when there isn’t much else to do, and over beside it is a shed antler I found around one of the trees,” Juuse has his spoon in his mouth, but he nods ardently anyway. When he sets his bowl back down, he’s looking at Pekka with an imploring gaze, glancing between the table and his host.

“Can I touch?” he asks, and although it’s not what Pekka expected him to say, he agrees. Juuse picks up the antler first. “Do you go into the woods a lot?”

Thinking about it, he realizes that he  _ does  _ take walks over there fairly often. “I do. I like the noise of it,” Juuse nods and doesn’t explain his reason for asking. He points to a bowl with a few coins in it. “I don’t like using coins, so I put all of my extra change in here and donate it to nature reserves when it’s full. I thought that would, uh, be appropriate, since she’s- Juuse?” His eyes are on Pekka, dark, and his face is nearly blank when before he was so expressive. He’s closer than when Pekka last looked up. “What’s wrong?”

Juuse blinks a few times at him before receding back into his own space. “Nothing,” he says, and his smile is just as warm as before, so Pekka doesn’t push it. The rest of dinner is in silence, which normally would be a good thing, but it makes him worry that he said something wrong. Juuse doesn’t look at him again after the initial reassurance. Once they’re both done, Pekka takes the dishes to the sink and tries to think of something to say.

When he turns around, Juuse still looks somewhat forlorn, or maybe overwhelmed. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

He opens his mouth and closes it a few times. “Nothing’s wrong, it’s just-” Juuse shakes his head, and Pekka sits back down to listen. “You don’t even have to think about being kind, do you?” He mumbles the question, and Pekka is too stunned to answer, so he continues. “I’ve never met anybody like that. I was thinking about it earlier, and I didn’t know how to say it,” Juuse averts his gaze, almost nervously. “I’m not used to talking, or thinking about emotions.”

“Take your time,” Pekka says, and he moves his chair a bit closer. He doesn’t have any idea what Juuse could be thinking  _ about him _ that gives him this much stress. 

After a beat, Juuse nods. “Okay.”

They stay at the dining room table until it’s time to sleep, Pekka doing some paperwork and Juuse reading an old book of lore and magic across from him. He looks up sometimes, both to make sure that Juuse’s alright and to study him candidly. Maybe it shouldn’t be such a shock, given how gods are described in poetry, but he’s strikingly beautiful. Pekka admits this freely (to himself) and moves on with his life. A few minutes later he’s staring at Juuse again. His eyes are curiously cold compared to the rest of him, almost stormy. His nose scrunches up in distaste at whatever he’s reading, and Pekka is enthralled.

So enthralled that he drops his pen on the floor and startles both of them.

“Sorry, I think it’s time for me to go to bed,” Pekka says, mortified, and Juuse laughs.

“I think that’s a good idea. I should probably do the same,” he replies, carefully putting the book back in its shelf before meeting Pekka at the lip of the hallway. It takes him a moment to figure out why Juuse followed him over. Right. He should give up his bed. He opens the door to his bedroom, wondering why he’s even going in if he’ll just be leaving in a few seconds. The sofa, thankfully, is very comfortable.

Juuse regards the room, which is almost empty aside from a bed, a night table, and a small fireplace. Juuse hangs up Pekka’s jacket and clambers onto Pekka’s bed while wearing-

He’s really just hurting himself by staying and watching, but he feels rooted to the spot. “I’m going now,” he announces uselessly, backing out of the doorway.

“What?” Juuse’s eyebrows furrow.

“Unless you want me to stay?” Sharing a bed isn’t a foreign concept to him; he’s slept beside strangers before with no implications. Offering it up probably isn’t socially acceptable, but Juuse obviously doesn’t take part in societal ideals anyway.

“If you want to,” he says carefully, but he’s already pulling the covers back for Pekka to get in beside him, and Pekka is already slipping his boots off. Juuse waits patiently for him to get undressed and into bed, but seems to tense up once Pekka is next to him.

“Is this okay?”

Juuse stares past Pekka, at the dark red curtains covering the window. He doesn’t even seem to hear what’s been said. It’s raining again, thrumming dully on the roof and windows, and Juuse seems startled by the sound. Pekka follows his gaze to the sliver of darkness that the curtains don’t cover, and then taps him to ask again. “Oh,” Juuse exhales quietly, blinking and dragging his eyes from the window. “Yeah. It’s fine. I’m just tired,” He scoots down far enough to pull the blanket over his head. Pekka frowns at the shifting lump under the covers, but he follows suit, if only to see what’s wrong. There’s no storm outside, and it’s hard to imagine that anybody would be bothered by a little rain, but he doesn’t know. Pekka looks to his guest from his side of the bed, studying him carefully. Juuse looks almost embarrassed.

“Are you alright?” Maybe he’s being overbearing, but he’d much rather ask than have Juuse be upset for the whole night. “Should I go sleep on the sofa?”

“Hush,” he says, swatting at Pekka’s hand as it holds the blanket up so they can see each other. “It’s just,” A pause, and his voice goes quiet. “I didn’t know that rain sounded like this inside a house. It’s- I don’t know. It sounds different outside. Inside it’s like music,” Juuse shakes his head, bashful. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t be so impressed, but it almost makes me want to cry.”

Pekka is silent. Even as a child he was never in awe of simple things. He’s never witnessed anybody hear rain pelting a roof for the first time. Juuse being so moved by it makes his chest tight, even more so knowing that nature and the seasons are a part of him in some way. “No, you should be,” he whispers back after a few beats. “I’ve never even thought about how the rain sounds.”  _ I hope you stay impressed with everything,  _ goes unsaid, but Pekka wants it all the same.

Juuse gives him a little smile and moves closer so his arm is touching Pekka’s, and they listen to the rain until they both fall asleep.

In the morning, Pekka swears he could have died. He wakes up just a second away from getting kicked off the bed, and Juuse stays asleep the entire time he’s unknowingly assaulting Pekka. It’s unfair. He’s lucky that Juuse is smaller than him, or he might have actually broken something. 

It’s still raining, but just lightly. Pekka opens the curtains, and Juuse wakes up halfway, griping as he forces himself upright. The light from the window makes him hiss for a moment, but he recovers quickly when Pekka offers him coffee. Juuse takes a moment to gain his bearings, and Pekka sits at the foot of the bed, waiting for him.

At the kitchen table, he’s too sleepy to talk much. Juuse smiles drowsily at the cup of coffee on the table by the door and sits down to eat handfuls of berries, occasionally dropping a few. Pekka doesn’t mention it. He has to work hard to remember that Juuse isn’t fully human.

“What are you thinking about?” Juuse asks, and he seems more awake now, even though his eyes are still squinted and listless. “You look like you want to say something.”

“I do, but I don’t know what I want to say,” he replies honestly. Maybe it’s something like  _ what hurt you the other day  _ or  _ do you want to stay here  _ but he’s not sure that he wants the answers. “Can you do everything a deity can?”

Juuse shakes his head. “Not even close. I can keep plants alive, stoke fires, and heal small wounds. I probably experience things differently, and I’ll live a little longer than the average human. I won’t age the same, but other than that, I could live the same as you. I-” He looks suddenly stricken. “I decided to shift that night, not just because you had an altar, but because at some point soon I won’t be able to go back.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“A bear only lives for so many years. That part of me will die when it does,” he says, staring at the trees through the window. His tone is so heartbroken, and Pekka at once wishes he really understood what Juuse was saying. A part of someone,  _ literally dying _ . He can’t imagine the emptiness, how it is to be homesick for something you can never be again. “It’ll be alright, I just need to be used to living like this.” Juuse doesn’t look like he’s convinced himself of that.

Pekka swallows heavily. “I think you should go back to the woods. Spend time there until you can’t anymore. It’ll be hard to leave behind no matter what, but you can leave with better memories.” Even if the woods aren’t what he’ll be missing.

Juuse glances at him, blinking. “I… You’re right. I might leave today,” Pekka nods, even if he really doesn’t want to. Juuse’s only been his guest for a day, but being close to him and knowing their connection makes it seem like it’s been forever. He wants to be selfish and suggest that Juuse stay with him, but he knows better. “It might not be that hard, transitioning to this,” Juuse says with a gentle smile, seemingly to soothe him. “I have you to come back to.”

Pekka stares at the table.

He ends up leaving that night, after eating dinner. He smiles whenever Pekka looks at him, squeezes his arm whenever they’re close enough. Once the sun sets, Juuse taps him to get his attention and lets Pekka walk him to the door, lingering at the threshold for a moment. He seems virtually unaffected, eyes bright. “I’ll come back,” he promises, hugging Pekka too briefly before he goes. 

Pekka’s left standing alone in the dim porch light, the slippers Juuse borrowed hanging in his hand. Sad isn’t the right word for what he feels, watching Juuse walk away towards the sea of trees. Going back into the house, he feels like this is the loneliest it’s ever been. He leaves the work he has left to do until tomorrow and kneels to pray before he goes to bed. Other than being very suddenly left solitary again, he’s alright. He doesn’t regret it, and he knows Juuse will come back.

He just underestimates how quickly that will happen.

It can’t be more than eight days (well, it’s exactly eight days- if Pekka has counted, it’s nobody’s business but his own) before Juuse appears sitting at the kitchen table, early in the morning when the sun hasn’t risen yet. Pekka almost yells when he sees a silhouette in the dark of his kitchen, but his sleep-addled brain recognizes it after a moment. He turns on the light to find Juuse reading  _ The Year of the Hare.  _ He seems enthralled by it, not even looking up to acknowledge that the room is no longer bathed in shadow. “Juuse?”

His head snaps up. “Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

“You’re- back already?” He doesn’t know how to word it. When was Juuse planning on coming back anyway? After the bear had disappeared? The next time he needed food? Juuse looks a bit hurt, so he tries his best to rephrase. “I was under the impression that it would be a longer time.”

“I thought I’d visit at some point every week,” he explains. “So you don’t forget me, if that’s okay,” His tone is light, but there’s something sad in it.

Pekka studies him for a moment. “Yeah, that’s okay. I’m happy to have you anytime,” He knows he’s revealing too much as soon as he says it, but Juuse smiles brightly and moves over to the sofa where they can sit together. It seems easy to get reaccustomed to his presence, but Pekka still stares into space, contemplating the whole thing, for a long while. Then he grabs a book and waits for Juuse to do something, but he never does. He’s quiet company, pressed warm up against Pekka’s shoulder. At one point, he leans down, and Pekka gets nervous- but it’s only to kiss his hand where it meets the book’s back cover. He seems to like doing that a lot. He eats dinner and leaves again.

Juuse keeps to his promise and visits every week at different points. It’s obvious that he doesn’t keep track of the days, as erratic as these visits are, sometimes coming three days after the last and sometimes nine. He talks to Pekka more the next time, but they still read and eat, and it seems like nothing is changing.

November blows in, and there’s a sudden shift. Juuse doesn’t feel as warm as before- although that just makes him the same temperature as Pekka- and he eats less. He talks quietly and picks at his food, reads the same page over again before moving on. Pekka wants to ask if there’s anything he can do, but he knows the answer. He gives Juuse the jacket to keep him warm between the woods and the house, now that he can’t do it by himself. By December, Juuse is unmistakably  _ cold.  _ He speaks only when addressed. He’s still affectionate, but it feels desperate whereas before he was so content.

Pekka pets him and stirs honey into his tea and prays that this won’t break him.

Juuse is tired but gracious as always and goes back into the woods each week. Pekka does some wood carvings, and they always end up becoming bears or trees. He decides to make them in a few sizes to imitate a family. He paints the trees and places them all meticulously on his dining table while he works on buying seeds and outlining next year’s crop. During the summer, he brought in one of the neighbors’ sons, Miikka, to help him with various odds and ends around the fields. He usually hires a student or two during their time off, and he needs to arrange things while he can. Spring is too hectic for planning. 

This is what he’s thinking about when Juuse comes over the next time, surrounded by bear figurines and an avalanche of permits and receipts. The door stays unlocked when he’s at home, and Pekka looks up immediately upon hearing the screen door creak open. Juuse has an almost penetrating chill permanently surrounding him by this point, so he wouldn’t have to look to know it was him. Still.

“Hi,” Pekka greets, gentle. Juuse looks around silently, expression dubious. He sighs, taking his reading glasses off. “Do you want to come sit down?” No response. It’s only when Juuse picks up one of the little birch wood bears that he realizes they might be upsetting him. He doesn’t regret making them, but he does wish he hadn’t put them out. “I can put those away,” he tries to placate. He stands, reaches for the one in Juuse’s hand.

Juuse jerks back. “No, I-” He pulls all of the statuettes closer to him on the table. “Did you make these?”

He stays standing, dumbfounded. “Yes?” Pekka briefly wonders if this is finally the point in a story at which a human does something wrong and faces retribution from the gods forever.

Juuse stares for a while longer, beginning to smile. It’s probably the first time in a month. He sits down and drops his hands to his lap, holding the figure between his palms. “I like them,” he says, voice wavering. Pekka sits next to him, brows furrowed. Juuse tears up a little, but he doesn’t make a noise, chin to his chest. “Can I keep one?” 

“Of course,” Pekka tells him without thinking. He’ll probably never understand the connection- what Juuse’s feeling- but he’s going to try. He squeezes Juuse’s shoulder, cold seeping through his jacket. It’s the one with patches that  _ used  _ to be Pekka’s.

Juuse hugs him tight when he leaves, wooden bear still clutched in one hand. His breath puffs frigid above Pekka’s collar. Pekka tries to keep Juuse in his arms for as long as he can, counting the seconds until he pulls back. Even then they both hesitate to let go, but he sees longing in Juuse’s eyes and knows it’s time to let him go home. He closes the door and doesn’t sleep, sitting in front of the fire with his lukewarm coffee, whittling away at bars of soap and random branches until morning.

On the official first day of winter, he drives out of town to a cemetery where some of his relatives are buried. He didn’t know any of them, but it’s tradition. (Speaking of, he’s sure his parents will want him to come home for Christmas, but another personal tradition of his is calling to catch up and ignoring every suggestion of visiting.) He stops for a bottle of mulled wine and a six pack of cheap beer, and keeps driving. Despite not having anything against socializing, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the silence. The country treats him well. 

Pekka pulls up to the gates after about an hour of driving, and is surprised to find no one else there, considering how close to Christmas it is. Always the height of elegance, he plops down on the snow in front of a row of headstones and takes one glove off with his teeth so he can open a beer. Pekka dusts a bit of snow off a stone and squints at it. “I hope you were an alcoholic in life,” he jokes, pouring a bit of the wine out onto the snow as less of an offering and more of an apology for bothering poor dead people. There are little garlands and candles strewn about the border of the cemetery. The area is urban, and it’s obviously cared for. 

Pekka sits on the ground for a while, pleasantly buzzed, contemplating some trees in the distance. By the time he gets up, the seat of his pants is wet with melted snow, and he’s sort of freezing his ass off. He gripes about it the entire drive back.

The sun is close to setting when he gets home. Pekka goes through his mail, drinking the few beers left. It’s dark when he hears the door open. He glances up, even though he knows who it is. (There aren’t many people who’d want anything of his, so he doesn’t hold fear of thieves.) 

Juuse looks like his heart’s been ripped out of his chest. Pekka stands up. 

He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries- Juuse has avoided touching him since he took the figurine- but he doesn’t even think, rushing over to hold him. Juuse clutches at the front of his shirt. “It’s gone,” he says, inconsolable. “It’s gone.” Pekka strokes his hair and shifts his eyes to the floor over Juuse’s shoulder, not knowing what he could possibly say to make it better.

In fact, he knows there’s nothing he could say.

On a whim, he pulls back and goes to dig through his closet for a bigger coat for Juuse to wear. “Let’s go look at lights.” Juuse stares at him blankly, eyes wet. “People put up lights for Yule.”

“Oh,” he exhales as Pekka wraps the coat around his shoulders. He willingly walks out to the truck, despite the wind probably being cold enough to freeze the tears to his cheeks. Pekka, who is still figuring out exactly what he’s going to do, gets into the driver’s seat in a daze. He didn’t think it would be this soon, but then what  _ did  _ he think? That Juuse would just get worse at the same rate that he had been for the last two months? For a few nights, it seemed that it couldn’t get any worse. How could Pekka be caught off guard by something he’s been both dreading and wishing could come sooner? 

He takes a break from berating himself to start the car. “Tell me what happened.” Juuse sinks into his seat.

“I could feel it getting weaker, so I shifted back to this. I didn’t want to feel him die, but it didn’t matter.” He shakes his head and scrubs at his eyes. “It didn’t matter, I couldn’t do anything. It’s just always been there, and now it’s not.”

Pekka nods. He might only understand a fraction of what Juuse’s describing to him, but he’s mourned. He can grasp that at least. He tries to think of what people said to him then: what helped, and what made him feel worse. “I’m here. Whenever you want.” It’s amazing how stiff some people can get around sad people, despite having grieved themselves. Pekka can’t imagine becoming so out of touch with something he once felt so vividly.

Juuse smiles and starts crying again. Pekka rubs his shoulder and stays quiet until they reach a bigger town. He doesn’t actually know where they are, but it doesn’t matter. Juuse stares at some candles flickering in the windows of a house, and Pekka takes it as an opportunity to temporarily distract him. He points to the rows of trees wrapped in electric blue string lights, and Juuse follows. It’s obvious he’s not done being upset- he doesn’t need to be- but he’s still fascinated. He sniffs, and Pekka stops in front of a particularly illuminated block of buildings, but Juuse is staring at his hands.

He seems to be shocked out of deep thought when Pekka touches his shoulder again. “Juuse? Do you want to go back home?” He shakes his head. “Do you want to just drive for a little bit?” This time, there’s a nod. Pekka thought that might be the case. Driving always makes him feel better. Juuse looks at least a little interested in the lights they’re passing, some more than others. He likes the simple white lights and the wire animals in some people’s front yards. Pekka has to fight a smile back when he hears Juuse counting reindeer.

He’s not quite sure how to get back to the house from here, anyway. 

With that in mind, they drive for another hour or so, Juuse staring out the window and Pekka trying to find  _ one  _ road sign. If Juuse asks him something, he answers, but he doesn’t try to start any conversations. That isn’t what he’s there for.

One familiar road leads to a few more, and at some point, Pekka starts to feel like he can find his way back alright. Juuse seems to have settled a bit, probably having worn himself out, and he doesn’t say anything in objection when they pull in front of the house. He stays in the doorway for a moment, looking back at the edge of the woods before letting himself be lead into the house. Pekka sits him down at the kitchen table and warms up some soup from a few days ago for them to eat.

A chair creaks behind him. “Pekka?” He makes a noise of acknowledgement, but it’s absent. “Have you ever had someone who-” Juuse stops, and Pekka can hear him thinking of what he wants to say. “Someone who was like a part of you, and you lost them?”

Pekka wants to look at him, but he can’t. He just sees dark eyes and blonde coffee with too much sugar and the discarded embroidery hoops that used to litter the house. “Yes.” He remembers not having the heart to throw those hoops away when his parents told him it would help him move on.

“For good?”

Pekka closes his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek. He still has all those sewing kits, somewhere buried in the back of a closet with the rest of the things he wants to forget. Maybe he doesn’t, and that’s why he keeps them. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and it comes out defeated for no reason. When he turns around, he’s schooled his features to something a little less heartbroken, and a little more careful. “They were everything to me.”

Juuse looks helpless and concerned in equal measure, resting his head on his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m better now,” And he is. It isn’t a lie. There’s nothing wrong with remembering something and being struck with a momentary ache deep in his chest. It might have taken years for him to learn that, but he knows it now. Pekka brings the soup over and sits close to him. “It doesn’t take as long as you think it will. Better doesn’t mean forgetting.” His voice is a little more gruff than he means for it to be with compensating for the bit of emotion he feels welling up. He’s probably proving his own point. Juuse sees right through him, and smiles a little. 

Pekka smiles back, and suddenly realizes he’s in love.

The smile drops a bit as he averts his gaze and acquires the strong urge to kick his own ass.

Juuse hugs him, and Pekka has a crisis while Juuse is draped over his shoulder. He has questions for himself that he can’t answer.  _ Who do I think I am? Have I actually moved on? _

He sits there, dumbfounded, as Juuse eats his soup and slowly warms back up after taking pretty much all of his real clothing off, leaving only a loose shirt and a pair of thermal pants Pekka got for him. 

Eventually, Pekka gets up to stoke the fire in the living room, bottle of mulled wine in hand. He puts it down after a few sips, being mostly disgusted by the sweetness. He can’t even get drunk to cope with his realization. (He wouldn’t get drunk anyway- he has the responsibility of being a good host and making sure Juuse is alright- but he really wants to.) When he comes back to the kitchen, Juuse is standing, leaning against the table, apparently finished eating.

“Hey,” he says, obviously trying to be casual.

Pekka raises an eyebrow. “Hey?” Juuse doesn’t respond, vaguely gesturing for him to come closer. “What’s wrong?”

Juuse wraps his fingers around Pekka’s wrists. “Oh, nothing.” He doesn’t feel cold anymore, but the warmth he had in September still hasn’t come back. Pekka is debating on whether or not he should say how proud he is of Juuse out loud when he sees Juuse making strange faces, scrunching up his nose and then leaning forward a bit. He rocks on his heels, coming up to stand on his socked toes. Overall, he’s doing a worrying amount of shifting.

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” 

Huffing, Juuse tries again. “Would you-” He moves his hands to Pekka’s biceps and closes his eyes. Pekka shouldn’t laugh when he’s genuinely frustrated, but he almost does with how ridiculous it is to have a son of the forest goddess in his kitchen, wearing his socks and glaring up at him. He sobers when Juuse makes sort of kissing faces and flutters his lashes. Maybe that should also be funny, but it shuts him the hell up. “You know what I mean,” he says, ears turning red, and Pekka does. “If you want.” He briefly wonders if he’s unconsciously made it so obvious that Juuse is just trying to please him. Or if he views it as a sort of repayment. Both of those thoughts make his stomach churn. “I want you to,” he says, and oh.

He forgets how to speak. “I want, if- if you-” Juuse nods hastily at his stuttering. Pekka shuffles closer and leans down a little to let Juuse kiss the corners of his mouth. It’s clear that him kissing Pekka’s hands is as far as he’s gone before now. He keeps his lips pursed at the beginning, but as soon as Pekka brushes his knuckles against his jaw, Juuse opens up for him easily. Then promptly pushes him away. 

Pekka is bewildered, but not worried, because Juuse stays fairly close. He’s making more weird faces. “What is that taste?”

He snorts. “Mulled wine.”

Juuse squints at that, but he lets Pekka kiss him again. He’s standing on Pekka’s toes, but it doesn’t bother him so much when Juuse’s also making little surprised noises whenever he presses closer. Juuse clings to him, and when Pekka rests a hand on his jawline, he covers it with his own. Eventually he has to pull back to breathe. “It actually isn’t that bad,” he says, breathing hard. “Tastes like cinnamon.”

Pekka smiles and thumbs at his cheekbone. “I could probably make something better. Wine is disgusting.” Juuse laughs gently, and it makes Pekka’s skin prickle. He kisses Juuse again briefly, hands petting his waist. 

The hot chocolate he makes later is so sweet he almost feels like he’s made a mistake. Juuse likes it though, swaddled up in Pekka’s bed with a poetry book. Sometimes he’ll leave the mess of blankets to look out the window, at the trees and the snow blanketing them, and he looks like he’s aching. It’s easy to recognize; it wasn’t so long ago that Pekka was doing the same thing. Still, Juuse needs to get some sleep. “Hey,” he says gently, and Juuse twists to look at him. “Come here?”

Pekka sits up on the edge of the bed and makes room for Juuse to settle between his legs in the same way. He wraps his arms around Juuse, and is mildly surprised when he leans back into Pekka’s chest. He sighs, seeming almost relieved, and smiles ever so slightly when Pekka kisses his cheek. “We should go to bed.”

“Okay,” Juuse murmurs, and shifts a little bit to return the kiss, letting Pekka hold him until he’s nearly falling asleep on his shoulder. Pekka takes his mug from him to set it safely on the nightstand and shifts just enough that they’re lengthwise on the bed. Juuse’s face scrunches up a little, and he squirms violently in the blanket to turn around so he could curl up nuzzling Pekka’s collarbone. In turn, Pekka strokes his hair and pulls him in close as they fall asleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, Juuse (who hasn’t kicked him off the bed yet) is already awake and staring at the frost on the window again. Pekka doesn’t stop him, watching from the bed until he notices. 

He gets up.  “I’ll make coffee,” Pekka says, squeezing Juuse’s shoulders. The rest of the house is empty and a little cold, so he tries to hurry back. He sets out a cup of coffee on the altar, black like his, and adds milk and honey to Juuse’s. Why he likes it so sweet, Pekka has no idea. He stirs in a little cinnamon too.

Juuse is sitting on the bed facing his closet when he comes back. His face brightens when Pekka hands him the mug, and even more when he takes a sip. “Thank you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. Pekka strokes his cheek as he looks up, and his expression dulls to something more curious, almost questioning. “Would it be okay if I looked in your closet?”

“Of course. This is your house now,” Pekka replies easily. “You can do whatever you like.” There’s nothing for him to hide, and he knows Juuse wouldn’t break or get rid of anything without asking, even if he probably could do it without Pekka being too upset. He loves his books and all of his possessions, but he’d only be upset about losing a few irreplaceable ones. 

At his response, Juuse’s eyes widen. He stands to wrap his arms around Pekka’s middle and be held for a moment. “Pekka,” Juuse says into the front of his sweater. “I’ve never owned anything.” It doesn’t really strike Pekka as something that important at first, but he’d never respond to Juuse’s wonder with indifference. He nods, not knowing what to say, but it hits him suddenly that living in a place full of things that weren’t actually  _ his  _ would probably depress him to no end. “You don’t know how much this- you mean to me,” Juuse continues, looking him in the eye, and Pekka struggles not to avert his gaze. It feels like a love confession; he guesses it sort of is, just not the one he’s used to hearing. It’s been a while since anyone’s been so honest with him. Even if he likes to think of himself as a genuine person, there are certain things he just doesn’t say. To think that Juuse had said that he struggled with describing how he feels- he must have improved somewhere along the line. 

Pekka feels like he at least deserves to have his sincerity returned.

He forces himself not to break eye contact. “All of this is yours, if you want it,” he says. Pekka guesses this is his own confession in a way, and he hopes it sounds like one. “People shouldn’t feel like outsiders in their own homes.” Juuse makes a punched out noise and puts his hands on either side of Pekka’s neck, searching for something in his face. He must find whatever it is, because then he’s pressing their lips together. He’s still rough- his first kiss was literally yesterday- but Pekka doesn’t think about it. 

Juuse looks at him for a while after that, then drags his eyes away to turn to the closet and starts to (gently, carefully) rummage through it. There’s nothing spectacular inside. Pekka smiles a little to himself once Juuse is turned away, and sits on the edge of the bed to flicker between reading and fondly watching him inspect mundane objects. Some of them, he can understand the confusion.

“Why do you have  _ so many  _ shoes? They’re all the same.”

Pekka scoffs in slight embarrassment at his own reasoning. “I always forget to take off my dress shoes before going out in the mud and end up ruining them, so I have back-ups. My head’s somewhere else, I guess.”

“Well,” Juuse starts. “I can help you remember now.” He sounds so determined, and Pekka smiles and nods. He hasn’t had anyone to chide him about his bumbling for a while. Not that Juuse isn’t also dreamy and lost in thought most of the time, but the sentiment is nice.

He pulls out some other things: whittling tools, scarves, and a nice mirror that Pekka hasn’t figured out where to put up yet. That’s pretty much all he has laying around, but most of the important stuff is up in the shelf above it. 

Pekka sees him looking despondently at the boxes on the top shelf, unable to reach that high. He goes over to help and piles the boxes next to Juuse, staying closer now and sitting at the foot of the bed. He stays quiet while Juuse carefully opens up the boxes and the newspaper that wraps some of the more fragile items. He seems to like the tea set Pekka’s mother gave him and an old camera in particular, but he wraps everything back up after studying each item in favor of opening up another box. This one is filled with sewing supplies and trinkets, and Juuse is impressed by the embroidered handkerchiefs inside. They’re pretty and a little heartbreaking to look at, but Pekka should really use them, considering that’s what they were made for. He motions for Juuse to hand him one with initials that aren’t his and puts it in his pocket so he’ll remember.

“Did you make these?” he asks, gesturing to an unfinished piece still in its hoop.

“No.”

Juuse stares at him blankly for a moment, and then visibly recognizes the bittersweet smile on Pekka’s face. “Oh. They’re nice.” He pricks himself several times on sewing needles while combing through the loose items at the bottom of the box and seems not to be bothered, much less even notice. “You have a lot of nice things,” he says softly.

“I think I like my toothbrush the best,” Pekka replies laughingly. Juuse makes a puzzled noise. “Never mind.” He’ll have to explain toiletries at a later date.

When he’s finished going through everything, Juuse decides to keep a few candles out to put in the windows. Pekka makes him blueberry waffles for breakfast (with his very sophisticated brand new waffle iron that he’s very proud of) and sits with his pen between his teeth while he considers the day’s crossword puzzle.

It seems like a perfect day to do nothing of importance, but then Juuse sees an ad in the newspaper for a Christmas tree orchard and makes the connection between it and some ornaments he found in another box. He doesn’t know what they’re for, but he  _ wants  _ one. Pekka doesn’t even bother sighing, just grabs his keys and a jacket.

“Sure,” he says, even though he hasn’t celebrated Christmas since he lived with his parents. “Let’s get one.”

Juuse picks out a small, billowing tree that rests securely on the dining table, one of the only ones left (he insists that he genuinely likes it- a tall tree would be too daunting) and Pekka finishes his crossword while he decorates it meticulously. There aren’t any lights to wrap around it, but there is a star that’s just the right size to fit on top. 

“Do you like it?” Juuse asks once he’s finished and has draped himself over Pekka’s lap. 

He looks up to see that some of his wooden bears are strewn about the base of the tree. “I love it,” he replies easily, and Juuse bats his lashes until Pekka is forced to lean over and kiss him. He smells like pine needles again.

Much later, Juuse finally notices the shower and demands that Pekka show him how to use it. He obliges, leading him into the tub once he’s checked that the water is at the right temperature and they’re both undressed. Juuse’s jaw drops as soon as he steps under the spray, and he stares at Pekka in shock. Pekka shuffles awkwardly, standing out of the water’s path. He isn’t sure what exactly warrants that reaction, and if Juuse is uncomfortable, he’ll leave without argument.

Instead, Juuse sputters incredulously, water spilling out of his mouth. “Where does the water come from? Where is it going?” Pekka pulls him out from beneath the stream as it apparently doesn’t occur to him that he probably shouldn’t get water in his eyes.

“The pipes?” he says dubiously. Juuse stares at him, still troubled. Pekka takes the shower head out of its socket and moves it over Juuse’s hand to demonstrate while he watches, transfixed. Then Pekka changes a setting on the nozzle, and Juuse recoils to the corner of the tub. Pekka frowns. “Is it too hot?”

“ _ What  _ is that thing and  _ why _ ?” He sounds genuinely wary.

Pekka doesn’t know how to explain any of this, when he really thinks about it, but he does his best, and after some time, Juuse actually seems comfortable enough to lean into Pekka and enjoy the warm water (the concept that originally spiked his interest.) His hair is clean, always- the woodsy scent constantly emanating from him no matter where he’s been- but it is a little tangled. Pekka makes sure to wet it, using that as an excuse to work his fingers through the soft strands. Juuse seems to enjoy that, swaying a little as he tries to push into Pekka’s hand. “I thought I missed the woods at first,” he says suddenly, quiet. “But I felt worse going back there. I missed being here more. Now I don’t think I could leave.”

“You won’t have to,” Pekka insists.

“I told my mother I’d be staying, so she’ll probably hold me to my word.” Juuse laughs a little, and Pekka, to his slight dismay, feels a pleasant shiver go through him at the familiarity of it.

“Good.” He gently presses his lips to Juuse’s and listens to the water run. Pekka pulls away hesitantly to kiss his shoulder, feeling more at home than he has in a long time with Juuse warm and bright in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me @ antoineroussel.tumblr.com! pls i'm desperate for discussion abt this bc i'm so into it
> 
> another inspiration: this poem by eeva kilpi
> 
> HE STEPPED INSIDE MY DOOR 
> 
> Let me know right away   
> if I'm disturbing you.   
> he said   
> as he stepped inside my door,   
> and i"ll leave the way I came. 
> 
> Not only do you disturb me,   
> I answered,   
> You turn my whole world   
> upside down.   
> Welcome.


End file.
